


Tutelage

by edibleflowers



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Slow Burn, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9170005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: At the age of sixteen, Ignis Scientia is ordered by King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII to begin weapons training.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was just going to write a short little Ignis/Gladio thing! I have NO IDEA how it got out of control. NONE AT ALL. Don't look at me like that. I did try to research as much as possible, but there may be errors in continuity or whatever; also, I'm no weapons expert but I tried. Forgive me any errors.
> 
> Also, as always, thanks to the bff lemniskate67 for helping me out in, once again, a fandom she knows nothing about.

At the age of sixteen, Ignis Scientia is ordered by King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII to begin weapons training.

The King delivers this command almost offhandedly, certainly not in the form of an order. But when one's king looks one over and says, "It's past time you picked up some skill at arms, don't you think?", one doesn't say no.

Ignis has been conscious, for as long as he can remember, that it is by the grace of the King that he has a place to live, a station, and indeed his life. He has never once thought to disobey any order given him. Besides, the command is a logical one. As Ignis has grown, he's been given more responsibilities in line with his duties to Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, the son of the King. At first, Ignis attended classes (albeit ones tailored better to his own age and knowledge base) alongside the young Prince. Later, he was trained in the day-to-day management of the crown: everything from the household's basic requirements to the duties of its staff to management of the King's (and Prince's) daily schedules.

When Noctis returned from his stay in Tenebrae, cooking became part of Ignis's repertoire. Soon his responsibilites narrowed focus to the Prince's needs in general, and he began to recognize his future role: as right-hand man to Noctis, he would serve as a steward and chamberlain, aiding the future king in any capacity required.

So if King Regis believes that Ignis needs to learn how to wield a weapon, then learn to wield a weapon Ignis will.

He presents himself later that same day to the training rooms. Normally he only stops here to find Noctis, who, since recovering from his injuries, has been training with the elder of the Amicitia offspring. Noctis may not be the most attentive student, but Ignis knows that he is, at least, well aware of his future duties and the dangers that might arise along with them.

Sure enough, when Ignis steps into the large training room, he sees Noctis sparring with Amicitia. ( _Gladiolus, that's his name,_ flicks into his head in the next breath.) Noctis has just been flung to his back, apparently, but he sucks in a sharp breath and pushes up to his feet, reaching an open hand to the empty air: a flash of light coalesces into a sword in his hand, and he yells and leaps at Gladiolus, standing a few feet away.

Gladiolus barely seems to move, his step to the side appearing incidental; its purpose becomes clear a moment later as Noctis trips and skids to his face on the mat behind Gladiolus. The sword flickers and disappears again, while Noctis groans into the vinyl mat.

"You're going to have to stop telegraphing your attacks like that," Gladiolus tells him. Noctis rolls over to his back and stares at the ceiling.

"You're too fast," he declares. "I quit."

Neither of them seem to have noticed Ignis standing by the open door. For a moment, he's tempted to back out and leave. Perhaps he can find some videos and learn a few things on his own. Before he can move, though, Noctis sits up and then calls his name.

"Ignis!" A moment later, resigned: "What am I late for this time?"

"Nothing," Ignis says, summoning his usual calm. "I didn't mean to interrupt, actually, but--"

"Came to watch?" Gladiolus is smiling beneath the brim of his cap. For a moment, the simmering warmth in his eyes actually renders Ignis speechless. 

"Ah, uh, no, I--" He draws a breath, straightens up. "The King suggested I begin weapons training. I thought this might be the best place to begin."

"Oh thank _Etro_ ," Noctis swears, and scrambles to his feet. "You can take over for me, right?"

"That's not how it works," Gladiolus says, shaking his head. "You still have another half an hour. And you--" He looks up at Ignis again. "Ignis, right? Why don't you stick around? I'm free after I'm done with the brat here."

Ignis feels his throat momentarily tighten. He isn't sure whether he's fancying that Gladiolus is flirting with him -- he can never really tell, to his frequent embarrassment -- or if he's annoyed that the man is referring to his future king as 'the brat'. He retreats to formality. "Certainly, if you don't mind. I'll stay out of the way."

Noctis groans and lets himself fall to the mat again. "Just kill me now."

* * *

Precisely half an hour later, Noctis is dismissed from training.

"Remarkable how he regains all his energy the instant you tell him he can leave," Ignis comments, amused; a moment earlier, Noctis had been flat on the floor, complaining he was about to die.

"It's always like that with him," Gladio says, chuckling. "You see it a lot, I guess?"

"Mm." Ignis nods, absent. He has to admit he's been pleasantly surprised by the afternoon so far; he'd never actually been introduced to Gladio, despite both of them working and living in the royal tower. Then again, given how many people actually serve the Crown, perhaps it's not that much of a surprise. Still, both their lives intersect Noctis's, and will continue to, so it may well be a good thing that he came to training today. "I rather suspect it will only get worse as time goes on, if he's indulged."

"So we don't indulge him." Gladio rolls his shoulders and nods his head toward the weapons racks mounted on one wall. "You want to see what we have? Figure out something that'll work for you?"

"Indeed." Standing, Ignis follows Gladio to the racks. Most of the weapons here are for practice only, made of hard wood or dulled metal. They could still do appreciable damage, of course, in the hands of a master -- not that Ignis aspires to that title. Simply being able to defend himself will be adequate for him.

"You're kinda skinny," Gladio comments, standing behind him. "I'm thinking a broadsword probably won't work for you, nothing two-handed. How do you feel about guns?"

"Not a fan," Ignis says, bristling a little at the skinny comment. He's sixteen years old, and even if he feels twice that age most of the time, he knows he still has some growing to do. "They're loud, they're not always very accurate, and they can be perfectly useless if they jam."

He earns an amused snort for that. "Got some opinions, I see. Nothing wrong with that. All right, let's see. How about--" Gladio steps past him, close enough to brush hips, and reaches for a pair of carved daggers set together on the rack. "You have to fight up close with these, but you can always count on 'em. Slip in under someone's cover and get 'em in the kidney when they least expect it. What do you think?"

Ignis reaches for one of the daggers. Despite being made of wood, the weapon is substantial in his hand: probably made with a steel core. He tests it, tries flipping it. The dagger clatters to the floor and he sucks in a breath as he reaches to grab it up again.

Gladio just snorts. "First lesson. Respect your weapons, don't treat 'em like toys. Come on." He hands over the other dagger and takes a practice sword for himself, heading back to the middle of the room. Resigned, Ignis pushes his glasses up his nose and follows.

By the end of the session, Ignis feels nothing but sympathy for Noctis. It's only been an hour, but Gladio -- who insisted Ignis call him by the abbreviated version of his name -- is relentless in first assessing and then testing Ignis's skills. Ignis is only grateful that he began running a couple of years ago; his endurance isn't great, but it's better than it might have been, and he only feels close to death instead of actually dead when the chime for the hour tolls.

"Not as bad as I thought," Gladio says, with grudging approval, and Ignis -- panting for breath -- manages to smile.

Gladio proceeds to schedule Ignis for training sessions every other day, three times a week, in the time slot immediately following Noctis's. Ignis feels his spirits, all too briefly raised, falling again.

* * *

He puts effort into training the way he does everything else. Ignis knows he's unusually driven; he's received compliments from tutors, often followed by a wry shake of the head when they think he's not looking. "Too young to be so serious," he overheard someone say once. He doesn't care.

He has to perform at his best in every task given him. Noctis deserves no less. The prince may still be young, but Ignis isn't blind to the kingdom's situation -- or to the king's. Regis sacrifices his own life energy to maintain the shield protecting Insomnia from external dangers. Though he's still in good health, Ignis has seen the toll the shield takes on him. Then there's the constant threat of renewed hostilities from the Empire. Ignis means to be prepared, even if he despairs of the prince's own readiness.

So he goes along with Gladio's training schedule, makes time for it between homework and driving lessons and cooking courses. He rehearses moves in his head while taking notes during Council meetings and royal consultations, while he's laying in bed before falling asleep, during morning runs.

And as time goes on, one month and then another and a third, he's inwardly pleased to find himself adequately defending against Gladio. Though Gladio is big -- both in height and musculature -- Ignis finds advantages in his relative shortness. One bright winter afternoon, he slips past a powerful downswing from Gladio's broadsword, hooks a foot around his ankle, and topples Gladio to the mat. He turns in the same moment, a dagger (metal: he's graduated from practice weapons to the real deal) at Gladio's throat.

Gladio bursts out laughing, still a little breathless from the fall that drove the air from his lungs. "You got me," he chuckles, making no move to dislodge Ignis.

All at once, Ignis realizes that he's all but laying on Gladio, straddling his waist. Gladio's training shirt is sleeveless, baring powerfully muscled arms lined with the beginnings of what will no doubt be an elaborate tattoo. His eyes sparkle; his grin is wide. Horrified, Ignis feels a thrill of arousal. He's hard as a rock in his loose trousers.

He scrambles off Gladio immediately, cheeks hot as fire. "S-sorry," he stammers, taking several steps back.

"Hey, nothing to apologize for." Gladio easily pushes to his feet again, tugging down on the hem of his shirt. "I told you to go all out."

 _He didn't feel--?_ Ignis is so relieved, he nearly misses Gladio telling him time's up for the day. In a rush, he returns the daggers to the rack and leaves the room, face still flaming.

He'll never be able to face Gladio again. That's for certain.

* * *

Two days pass and he decides, after a lot of internal debate, not to return to training. It leaves a gap in his daily routine, but he has exams to study for and notes to type up. He'll send Gladio a text later, with some contrived excuse. The King feels his training is sufficient. He has a new evening class. He fell into the sun and died.

Fifteen minutes after the time he's supposed to be at training, as he's deep into transcribing notes from class into his laptop, a knock at the door of his Citadel apartment startles him. He blinks dully at the door as if expecting an explanation. The knock repeats, solid, loud.

 _Shit,_ Ignis thinks eloquently. He doesn't need to be an Oracle to know who that is.

Sure enough, when he forces himself to the door and cracks it open, there's Gladio, imposing and tall, one eyebrow cocked. "There you are," he says, sounding puzzled. "You running late? Not like you."

Ignis's mind races, searching in vain for an excuse. Too slow, he lifts a hand to his mouth and coughs. It sounds false, even to him. "I--I wasn't feeling well. I was going to send a text--"

"Uh-huh." Gladio's mouth twists skeptically. "But Monica said you were fine to go running with her earlier."

Ignis swallows hard. Fine; this is happening. He steps back and opens the door, wordlessly inviting Gladio in. Eyebrow climbing higher, Gladio steps into the apartment. As Ignis lets the door close behind him, he tries to see the place with an objective eye. He strives for order and organization. Schoolbooks are stacked on his desk, by his laptop (open, but gone to a neutral screensaver now); the open kitchen is clean, though he'd laid out food for dinner already. He needs to dust, but for now the place looks fine. He glances back at Gladio to see the man watching him with an unreadable gaze.

"Man," Gladio says. "You are the neatest person I think I ever met."

"It's a talent," Ignis says glibly. "Did you want something to drink?"

Gladio snorts a chuckle and wanders toward the couch, settling down and spreading his arms across the back. "I didn't come for a drink," he says, pointed. "Why weren't you at training?"

Right. That. Ignis looks away, swallowing. He can feel his face warming when he looks back at Gladio. "I thought you knew."

"What are you talking about?" Gladio looks genuinely puzzled now. "All I know is you took me down and then freaked out."

"I was--" Ignis stutters. For all his education, he's sorely lacking in this department. "I. When I was over you--"

Gladio's mouth opens; he barks a laugh. "Shit! Is that what this is about? You dork, that kind of thing happens all the time."

Ignis's face goes even hotter, even as a wash of relief goes through him. "What? Y-you mean--"

"Now I really _do_ need something to drink." Still chuckling, Gladio goes to the refrigerator and opens it, retrieving a bottle of water. He holds another out to Ignis; after a moment, Ignis makes himself move to accept it.

Gladio takes a long drink, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Ignis tries not to watch, only partly succeeds. "OK," Gladio says. "So, like, you've had the talk with someone? You're not--"

"I know about sex, yes," Ignis says stiffly. Admittedly, most of his knowledge comes from the 'net, but he did at least go to his uncle when curiosity got to him a few years back. "I don't need a lesson."

"How about a demonstration?" Gladio winks at him.

Ignis is suddenly, forcefully reminded of every sensation of straddling Gladio: his body heat, the taut muscle under his thighs and ass, the strong bare shoulder under his palm. _He's not **that** much older than me,_ some traitorous part of his mind points out. He takes a step back and drinks from his water. "I -- I think I've got enough to learn as it is."

"Hey, you can just say no." Gladio's voice gentles a little; he stays where he is, leaning one hip against the fridge. "I won't be offended."

"What if I wanted to?"

The moment the words are out of his mouth, Ignis goes bright red. If a convenient hole in the floor opened up and swallowed him whole, he would go gladly. Instead, he puts the bottle down and looks away from Gladio's astonished face. "I," he tries. Inhales. Looks at Gladio again.

Gladio stands upright now, his hands loose at his sides, his head tilted. "Is that something you want?" he asks. 

_Here it comes,_ Ignis thinks. _He'll let me down nicely, and we'll go back to training like nothing happened._ Gladio's a good person. He's learned that much in weeks of training sessions: Gladio's tough, but fair. He's not mean-spirited or deliberately cruel.

Ignis makes himself keep looking at Gladio. "It is," he manages. "I think it is."

Gladio's smile softens a little. He sets down his empty bottle and takes a step toward Ignis, resting a hand on Ignis's shoulder. The heat of his palm seems to burn through Ignis's shirt into his skin. "When you're sure," he says, "let me know."

He lets go of Ignis and moves past him to the door. As he opens it, he calls, "And I'll see you for training Friday!"

Ignis stares at the door as it closes behind Gladio. For an instant, he's crazily tempted to go after him. He presses his hands to the counter until the urge passes. He's not sure if it'll be better or worse, now, next time he goes to training.

Once he's finally feeling calm again, he goes back to the desk to finish typing up notes. He keeps drifting as he types, having to shake himself out of thinking about Gladio to find his place again. Finally, after staring at the same line of scribbles on a page for a full minute, he gives up and goes into the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt.

The mere idea of being with Gladio makes his breath come short. He undresses swiftly, erection almost painfully hard; when it springs free of his briefs, he moans at the release of pressure. Letting himself fall back to the bed, he takes his cock in hand at once. It lasts only moments: he pictures Gladio over him, pinning him, or maybe he'd ride Gladio, looking down on him -- like when he took him down -- with Gladio thrusting up deep into him--

Ignis comes, gasping, all over his belly. _No,_ he thinks. _This will definitely be worse._

* * *

Somehow he makes himself turn up at the usual time on Friday. His fears are unfounded -- well, mostly. Gladio acts as if nothing happened, but as he tosses Ignis his daggers, he winks. Ignis knows he saw it. There's no missing those extraordinary amber-hued eyes, the color of honey or whiskey, lending an ethereal air to Gladio's otherwise normal (if handsome) face.

He swallows, ignores it, focuses on a defensive move instead.

* * *

As time goes on, Ignis learns other weapons as well: spears become familiar in his hands, and he even tries shuriken, but he consistently returns to the daggers.

"You really ought to make sure you can use everything," Gladio comments at one point, not long after Ignis's seventeenth birthday.

"I know." Ignis lazily tosses the daggers at a training dummy, one after another. Though they're not weighted for throwing, each one lands point-first in the heart-shaped target on the dummy's chest. He reaches out with a hand and summons them back into nothingness.

"Cute," Gladio says sarcastically. "We'll have to start you on moving targets next."

"Whatever you see fit." Ignis doesn't smile, but he's pleased nonetheless to have surprised Gladio.

* * *

Eventually, Ignis's training regimen shifts. It's inevitable: he's mastered his chosen weapon, so next Gladio begins teaching him unarmed combat. By now, at least, Ignis has filled out: he's grown another couple of inches, too, though he thinks he's probably topped out now at just about six feet. Even that slight bit of extra height and muscle helps -- barely -- when he's forced to attack (or defend himself from) Gladio.

Training is still only a small fraction of his responsibilities to the Crown, which grow as Noctis does. He's required to pay more attention to various political situations, to determine the meaning of specific attacks or potential threats, and to report to the King on his observations. He helps Noct with homework, often encouraging him to finish by bribing him with a special dessert (and continuing to try to replicate the Tenebrae sweet Noctis misses so). And he continues to fantasize about Gladio -- usually at the worst possible moments.

And then he turns eighteen.

* * *

To his surprise, the King throws a birthday party for him. (Well, probably not the King personally, he thinks: probably Monica or someone organized it with his approval. Still, no matter.) When he walks into the main conference room, notepad in hand for the meeting he thought was taking place, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Surprise!" shout a dozen voices in unison. Ignis grasps the closest chair back to keep himself upright.

The collected group isn't that large: the King and his closest friend, Clarus Amicitia; Ignis's uncle; Gladio and his little sister Iris; Prince Noctis with his new friend, Prompto; Dustin and Monica; a few of the other Citadel servants Ignis has worked closely with over the years. The room is decorated with a banner and streamers, a huge cake in the middle of the table, presents stacked next to it.

Literally speechless for a moment, all Ignis can do is stare.

"See, I told you he'd like it!" Noctis cheers, and laughter eases the moment.

He begs forgiveness for his awkward reaction; it's graciously given from the King. Most of Ignis's birthdays have been low-key affairs; occasionally a schoolmate would leave a small present on his desk, some trinket -- a keychain or phone charm, meaningless if well-intended. Last year, Iris picked a bouquet of wildflowers for him. This is something else entirely.

"Hey, 18's a big year," Gladio says, pushing a slice of cake into his hands. Automatically, Ignis takes a bite. "You're out of high school this year, yeah? Time to pick a university and all that. Here." As if oblivious to the fact that Ignis's hands are full, Gladio picks a box from the stack of gifts and pushes it at Ignis, who manages to put the cake aside just in time.

"What -- Gladio--" Ignis starts.

Gladio just smiles, his arms folded. "Go on."

Heart pounding, Ignis unties the ribbon and tears open the wrapping paper. The wooden box thus revealed is long and flat, with two brass clasps set into one of the long sides and corresponding hinges on the other.

Nestled within the box, set in deep red velvet, rest two intricately engraved daggers, polished to a high shine. At first glance, the daggers seem exactly alike: runes have been marked along the blades, while the hilts are wrapped in fine leather. Looking closer, Ignis sees the slightest variation in the length of the tang on each and realizes one is for the left hand, the other for the right. He lifts one out, feeling the perfect balance of it, the way it seems made for his arm. He looks up at Gladio, whose grin is even wider now.

"Had 'em made special," Gladio says. "You won't find another pair like this anywhere on Eos."

"Gladio," he says. The word sounds strange in his throat. "I--I can't--"

"You can and you will." Gladio's brows lower over his eyes. "Those are yours. Happy birthday, Iggy."

Ignis wants very badly to ignore all protocol -- as well as the fact that King Regis and Gladio's own father are in the room -- and show Gladio just how grateful he is. Probably for the best, Noctis catches sight of the dagger in Ignis's hand and yelps, immediately demanding to see it. As he hands the weapon over, Ignis swallows and gives Gladio a nod of thanks.

Gladio nods back. Ignis feels something breathless bubbling up in his chest.

* * *

He waits until nearly midnight before going to Gladio's apartment in the Citadel.

Subtle inquiries among the staff had let him know, some time back, that like him, Gladio lived by himself in the building. The Amicitia family has a sizable manor house close in the city, but Gladio had moved here to be close to Noctis: as the prince's shield, he's responsible for Noctis's safety. Like Ignis, he takes his duties seriously.

Ignis is glad of it now. He'd hate to have to slip out of the Citadel and across several city blocks at this time of night.

Only after he's knocked on the door does he stop to consider he might be waking Gladio up. His stomach tenses. He doesn't want to disturb Gladio if he's sleeping. Well, if there's no answer, then he'll go: no harm done. (An image strikes his mind: Gladio, stretched out in bed, wearing possibly nothing; a thin sheet draped loosely over him, moonlight limning every line of him--)

The door opens. Ignis bites back a gulp. Gladio leans an arm on the door frame, his hair a mess. He's wearing sweatpants and nothing else. The momentarily annoyed look on his face fades, somewhat, when he takes in the sight of Ignis standing there. "Something up?" he asks. His voice is scratchy. _Was he asleep?_

"You said. To let you know. When I was sure." Ignis shakes his head. Why is he unable to spit out a complete sentence? Gladio's looking at him like he just sprouted another head. For possibly the first time in his life, Ignis gives in to impulse. He steps forward until he's in Gladio's personal space, reaches up to frame Gladio's face in his hands, and pushes up until his lips meet Gladio's.

Gladio makes a startled sound. To Ignis's eternal gratitude, however, he doesn't push Ignis away. If anything, his reaction is the opposite: he wraps an arm around Ignis's waist, pulling him closer and stepping backward at the same time. Ignis distantly hears the door close behind him. _Good_ : he wants this all to himself. He snakes an arm around Gladio's shoulders and lets Gladio tug him backwards, stumbling after him and trying his damnedest not to break the kiss.

It has to happen eventually; Gladio catches up against something and they both go over, Gladio laughing in surprise, Ignis following him before he quite knows what's happening. They've landed on the couch, apparently, which suits Ignis just fine. At last, after so long, he's sprawled over Gladio again, the way he's imagined a hundred thousand times.

"Not that I'm complaining," Gladio says, reaching up to stroke a hand over Ignis's hair, "but this is all kinda fast."

"Fast?" Ignis is the one laughing now, a little strained. Gladio's so solid beneath him, all dense muscle and hot skin, he just wants to rub all over him. "I've been going insane wanting you for two years now."

Gladio's eyes widen. "You coulda said something before!" Despite himself, he laughs a little, too, his hand cupping Ignis's cheek now. "I wish you had," he adds, softer, and tips his head up to kiss Ignis. Ignis meets the kiss almost absently, the words sinking in more slowly. Had he really wasted so much time? It didn't matter now, not that he was here.

"I want you to be my first," he says, when Gladio draws back from the kiss again.

He can actually _feel_ Gladio shudder, which is kind of amazing. "If you're sure," Gladio mutters, and nudges Ignis up. "Wanna do this right."

Ignis remains only confused for a moment, as Gladio takes his hand; then he sees the open bedroom door and understands, follows Gladio willingly. One lamp is lit over the side of the bed where the covers are pushed back; a novel has been set aside on the bedside table, open and turned upside down to mark its place. The room is sparse aside from the big bed and a dresser facing it. Gladio must not spend much time here.

"Gotta be honest, I never actually thought this would happen," Gladio admits, turning once they're in the bedroom. He takes Ignis's other hand and draws him closer. "Figured you'd move on."

"I don't exactly get out. You might have noticed I'm something of a workaholic," Ignis says drily. Laughing, Gladio tugs him right up against him and bends his neck to kiss Ignis. They seem to fit together, somehow; Ignis lets go of Gladio's hands to slide his arms around his waist, to feel the bare skin of his strong back, all the lean muscle lapping up over his ribs and along the deep groove of his spine. 

"Lucky me," Gladio murmurs, and bites Ignis's lower lip. Ignis groans into Gladio's mouth. He'd debate the statement if he had any breath left to argue, which is probably exactly what Gladio intended. He pulls back, gasping, and starts unbuttoning his shirt with frantic fingers.

Gladio's hands catch his. "Hey, slow down," he says. "We've got all night."

"And I've spent the last two years wanting you and being foolish enough not to admit it," Ignis says. "Forgive me for being impatient." Still, he drops his hands, lets Gladio finish the job.

"Two years," Gladio says, shaking his head. "That's right, you weren't much past sixteen when we started training. You have any specific thoughts?" Gladio tugs the tails of Ignis's shirt from his trousers.

Ignis inhales as Gladio's fingers spread over his chest, exploring his sides, under the open shirt. "I--I had a lot of them, actually. Wondered what it would be like to kiss you, to touch... to feel your hands on me, oh. Oh, that's nice." Gladio's generous mouth brushes kisses at the corner of Ignis's jaw, behind his ear; warmth blooms down his neck and he arches into Gladio's touch, tilts his head back, wordlessly begging for more. His fingers curl in the waistband of Gladio's sweatpants.

Somehow they make it to the bed, Ignis nearly tripping over his feet. He feels so clumsy beside Gladio, but at least Gladio doesn't seem to mind. If anything, Gladio's unexpectedly gentle. Not that he thought he'd be rough, but... Ignis forgets everything again when he sits, absently kicking his shoes off. He shucks off his shirt and falls back to the bed, reaching for Gladio; grinning, Gladio moves over him, one hand bracing himself on the mattress as he leans in to kiss Ignis again.

As excited as he is, as ready for more, Ignis could do this forever, too. He's already half in love with the way Gladio kisses, urgent and hungry, tongue stealing between his lips to explore intimately, making Ignis keen. He wants it all. Gladio's fingers pluck a query at the opening of his trousers and he hums consent, breaking away long enough to mutter, "Gods, yes, please," before surging up to meet Gladio's mouth again. Readily, then, Gladio tugs the button open, the zipper down; even the slightest brush of his fingers over the fabric covering Ignis's stiff erection is enough to make him moan into Gladio's mouth.

"Let me," Gladio mutters, and Ignis nods blindly, sucking in a breath as Gladio pushes his briefs down enough to free his cock at last. His clasp is gentle, at first; Gladio makes a low sound, as if pleased, his fingers curling around Ignis, thumb light on the head, smearing wetness there. Ignis wouldn't be able to put a name to the noise he makes at that even if he wasn't half out of his mind with need. "Just to take the edge off," Gladio says then, his voice at least an octave lower, if not more, and that's when he starts to stroke Ignis firmly.

The sensation is familiar and yet completely new, all the better for it being someone else's hand instead of his own -- and that it's Gladio just adds to the pleasure of it somehow. Ignis can't breathe for a moment; he groans, finds his breath again, and grasps at Gladio's shoulder, desperate for an anchor, to touch as he's being touched. He rocks helplessly into the steady slide of Gladio's fist, into that tight heat, head spinning. "Not -- not long, can't, I can't," he gasps.

"Don't try," Gladio says, and that's it, the growl of his voice sends Ignis over the edge. For long moments all he can do is blink up at the ceiling, waiting for the room to cease swirling around him. When he finds the strength to look at Gladio again, he sees the other man licking his fingers, a satisfied smirk wide on his face.

"Gods above," Ignis croaks.

"That was fucking hot," Gladio says. "Now we can get more comfortable, yeah?"

* * *

He'd thought he would be nervous, but watching Gladio skin out of his sweatpants, revealing nothing beneath, Ignis feels nothing but excitement. Like the rest of him, Gladio's cock is sizable, too, though that could be because he's hard, his erection jutting out from a dark thatch of hair that trails delightfully up his sculpted abdomen. Almost belatedly, Ignis lifts his hips and shoves his trousers and briefs the rest of the way off, then scoots up on the bed as Gladio puts a knee down and settles on it next to him.

"You're in good shape," is all Gladio comments, though, idly running a hand over Ignis's chest as he leans in for a kiss. Ignis chuckles into Gladio's mouth, his own hand sliding up into Gladio's hair, the long spikes of it grown out in back. 

"You should know," he murmurs.

Gladio laughs at that. "Yeah, well, you always keep it hidden. How's a guy supposed to tell?"

"Maybe that was my plan all along." Ignis's voice quivers as Gladio's fingers trail over a nipple, tease it to hardness. He hadn't thought he'd be so sensitive there, but when Gladio sets his mouth there, tongue rough over his skin, he clasps at the back of Gladio's neck and gasps, feels his cock twitch again. "Ahh--"

"This is my favorite part," Gladio says, almost idly, as he returns to teasing the hard nub with his fingertips. "Finding out what you like, what you're into, what gets you all turned on."

"H-have you done this often?" The question comes out of Ignis's mouth before he can think to censor himself, but Gladio only smiles, leaning in for another kiss.

"A few times. Does it bother you?"

"Figure one of us should have some practical experience," Ignis says, and Gladio laughs.

"You talk more when you're turned on, I like that." 

"I--I want--" For all his education, Ignis can't seem to articulate anything now. He gives up, touching Gladio instead, sliding his hand over a broad shoulder, tracing the lines of the tattoo that's been filled in over the past two years, down to a solid hip, a thigh coiled with tension. Suddenly he knows just why this is Gladio's favorite part: it's amazing the way Gladio goes suddenly still, his breath hissing out of him, like every glancing touch of Ignis's fingers affects him. It gives Ignis the courage he needs to slide his fingertips over Gladio's cock, heavy on his thigh. The shaft jerks when Ignis curls his fingers around it and Gladio lets out an involuntary moan.

"Turnabout's fair play," Ignis says, and Gladio gives a strangled laugh.

"B-be my guest," he says.

It's not that different from touching himself, apart from the obvious differences; Ignis has to curve his hand to effectively stroke Gladio, but once he's found a good position, he can focus entirely on Gladio: listening to him pant and gasp, feeling him shudder. When Gladio grips his shoulder and digs in, Ignis knows he must be doing something right. He shifts closer, brings his other hand into play, using it to stroke Gladio's balls, to cup and tease them. He may not have practical experience, but he has studied this the way he's studied everything else. When he slides two fingers between Gladio's thighs to rub the soft, fuzzy skin of his perineum, Gladio lets go of a startling moan. His cock jerks in Ignis's hand and his head drops back as he comes, his toes curling in the blankets.

"Oh, very nice," Ignis can't help but say.

Gladio drops to his back and starts laughing. "Better than fucking 'nice'. Gods, Ignis," he pants, when he can breathe again.

Smiling to himself, Ignis gets out of bed.

When he returns with two bottles of water, Gladio has dragged himself up to sit with his back to the headboard, a pillow tossed out of the way to make room. He accepts the bottle Ignis hands him and drinks thirstily; Ignis settles beside him and drinks as well, slower.

"Good thinking," Gladio says afterward, setting the half-empty bottle down on the side table.

"Well, I'm hoping that wasn't it for the night." Ignis gives Gladio a lazy smile. It's evened things between them somehow, his taking a turn. He doesn't want to just lay back and let things happen, and if Gladio's behavior during training is anything to go by, he prefers an active partner as well.

"Just gettin' started." Gladio turns toward him. "Mind if I--?" he asks, reaching for Ignis's glasses.

"If you insist." Ignis closes his eyes as Gladio removes them, then takes them to fold them and set them on the other side table, along with his water. "I'm not utterly lost without them. My vision is adequate enough."

"I know." Gladio's hand curves on Ignis's cheek, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. "I just wanted to see your eyes without them."

Ignis can't help the flush that rises to his face anymore than he can help breathing. He opts to ignore it instead, flicking his eyes down and up again to take in all of Gladio; he's been stealing glances all along, but it's nice to get a full view. There's something about Gladio he can't put his finger on. He's strong, sure, but it's more than that. His muscles, his body, are earned through hard work. They're for real, not just for show.

"Like what you see?" Gladio asks, and Ignis leans in for another kiss.

"Very much so."

* * *

He hadn't expected calm. He'd guessed it would be hot -- and it was, oh, it was -- but he hadn't expected to relax, to laugh, to enjoy the time between, too. He'd imagined a lot, but there was no way he could have imagined this. In a way, later, he thought it might be his favorite part.

They chat for a little, as odd as it seems, holding hands, shoulders pressed together. At some point, Gladio turns to kiss Ignis again, hand idly sliding down over Ignis's chest and belly (rather as if Ignis belongs to him, a thought Ignis likes more than he'd care to admit), avoiding his cock in a way that's both exciting and frustrating.

"Dunno about you," Gladio murmurs against Ignis's mouth, "but I'm ready for round two."

" _So_ ready." Ignis swallows and pushes over until he's straddling Gladio's lap, resting on his thighs. He spreads his hands on Gladio's chest, traces the tattoo over one pectoral. "I -- I really want--"

"Like this?" Gladio's eyes are dark as he looks at Ignis, takes him in, top to bottom. "Yeah, this is good, but maybe not for your first time. I don't want you sore."

"I thought that was the point." Ignis leans in, kisses Gladio, nips at his lower lip. He's already learned a lot about what Gladio likes. Sure enough, Gladio moans, tilting into the kiss, his hands finding Ignis's ass and squeezing. That's a new sensation, and Ignis groans, feels himself rising to hardness almost at once.

"The _point_ ," Gladio growls into Ignis's mouth, "is for us both to feel good. You get off, I get off, everyone's happy."

"And this is how I want to get off," Ignis replies, inching forward on his knees so that he can feel -- oh, _yes_ , Gladio's getting hard too, that slide of heat against him is sheer bliss. He tries grinding against him; Gladio makes a sound that's almost pain, then grasps Ignis and rolls them over, all in one swift movement. 

Being pinned underneath Gladio isn't exactly a torment, either. Ignis grabs at Gladio, shuddering. "G-Gladio--"

"What, Ignis? What do you want?"

"Just you." He breathes the words hoarsely. "Just you. In me. That's what I want."

"Tell you what." Gladio dips his head, mouthing at Ignis's neck, his collar bone. "We'll do it like this the first time. It'll be easier on you. Next time, you can ride me. OK?"

He's reluctant to agree, but the one tiny rational part of his mind points out that Gladio _does_ have the experience in this. Biting his lip, he nods. "OK. That--that works for me."

"Good." Gladio lifts up, grinning. "Works for me, too." And he's up and reaching past Ignis for something. Before Ignis can think to question what it is, Gladio's returned, a small wooden box dropped on the bed by Ignis's hip. When Ignis raises a curious eyebrow, Gladio just smiles. "Supplies," he says, and goes back to worshiping Ignis's throat with his lips and tongue.

It takes a moment to make the connection, and then Ignis actually feels himself sweat with embarrassment. By the Six, how stupid could he be? Of course they'd need things. Lubrication, condoms. He came here completely unprepared. He's a fool.

"Hey. Ignis. Iggy, you all right?" Gladio lifts up, blinking down at him. "You not into this all of a sudden? We don't have to."

Ignis swears under his breath. He's not prone to anxiety attacks, but something has him suddenly shaking a little. He pushes out from under Gladio and sits up, aware that his erection has died down. "I'm sorry," he says. "I just -- I." He swallows. "I should go."

"If you need to," Gladio says, dubious, "but I really wish you wouldn't." He sits up, too, on one hip, a hand near but not touching Ignis.

"I feel incredibly stupid," Ignis says, without meeting Gladio's eyes. "You're much more prepared for this than I am. I didn't even bring anything with me."

"You didn't have to. I've got this." Now Gladio does touch him, just resting his hand on Ignis's.

Ignis takes a deep breath and looks up at Gladio. "I -- all right. I guess it just hit me how inexperienced I truly am. How ridiculous it is that you'd want to be with me."

Unexpectedly, Gladio snickers. "You know, Iggy, for being the smartest guy I know, you can be really dumb sometimes." Before Ignis can protest, Gladio brings their hands up between them, his thumb rubbing a gentle pattern in Ignis's palm. "You're gorgeous, you're smart, you're a great cook, you're a hell of a fighter. I can't think of anyone else I'd want to have watching my back. And for being new to it, you're an amazing kisser. I thought for sure you'd find someone by now and leave me behind, I don't even know how I got lucky enough that you waited for me."

Ignis blinks at Gladio, speechless for a long, silent moment. Then he tugs Gladio close and finds his mouth for a new kiss, hungry with revived passion. "Well then," he mutters against Gladio's lips, "I guess we're a pair of idiots, aren't we?"

Laughing, Gladio bears him back down to the mattress again.

* * *

Ignis's remaining anxiety dissipates in more heady kisses; he spreads his palms over Gladio's back to feel the powerful muscles, mapping and exploring him, even as Gladio skims a warm hand between Ignis's thighs. Ignis opens readily for him. There's no shame in this: how could there be? He's where he wanted to be for so long, finally. When Gladio pulls back to retrieve something from the box, Ignis mewls a little in want. 

Gladio chuckles as he returns, brandishing a somewhat crumpled foil tube. "You can do this yourself, if you want, but I really kinda love doing it too," he says as he uncaps it. 

Biting his lip, Ignis slides down a bit on the bed, spreading his legs wider in invitation. He sees Gladio's eyes flare and a new wave of need hits him. "I want you to, then," he says.

Gladio swallows and settles, kneeling, between Ignis's ankles. "Tell me if it hurts, or if it's good. Just, just talk, OK?" he says, as his dry fingers cup Ignis's scrotum, then slide behind it, stroking, seeking -- and finding. Ignis hisses out a breath when Gladio's fingers rub at his opening. Even without any moisture, it feels good. He had no idea he could be so sensitive there, either. 

"I w-will," Ignis manages. Gladio's fingers slip away, then return, slick with lube this time. Though the stuff is cool, it warms quickly, and Gladio draws steady circles around and then in, just one fingertip at first. "Yeah," Ignis breathes. "More, you can, more, please." Like before, sentences are already lost to him, but Gladio gets it. His finger slips deeper, deeper, in teasing strokes, until--

"There we go, you like that?" Gladio murmurs, his rich voice husky, and Ignis can feel he's buried deep. It's not enough, he can tell at once, but he likes this slow build.

"It's good," he says, throaty. "I, I want more, another at least--"

"Ooh, he's greedy." But Gladio's grinning, and his other hand smooths over Ignis's thigh and belly, avoiding his renewed erection, as he draws back and dips in with two fingertips now. This is a tighter fit, though far from painful; if anything, Ignis feels empty, an aching void between his legs itching to be filled. He _is_ greedy, damn it. As Gladio pushes in, he begins to rock his hips just enough to press and get a little more of those fingers in him. Gladio makes a sound -- a grunt? some sort of wordless urgent noise -- and pushes in harder.

Ignis begins to lose track of time. The world has shrunk to this room, to this bed, to Gladio's steady pushes into him and the pleasure that ripples every time he draws back. He takes steady breaths, letting them out, willing himself to relax. Gladio murmurs something about a third finger and Ignis nods, adds a "Yes" so he can't be misinterpreted, groans when he feels the distending pressure of three of Gladio's thick fingers working into him. More lube, more heat, Gladio's other hand making a loose fist on his cock and stroking slowly to add even more pleasure to the moment. Ignis closes his eyes and lets it wash over him until he can't take it any more.

"Please," he says finally, amazed at how thready and thin his voice is. "Gods, please, Gladio, just do it already, just -- just come on, I want you in me, _please_ \--" He reaches out, grasps a bicep so tense it feels like stone. When he opens his eyes, he sees that Gladio's are black, and that Gladio's hard again -- has been, probably, for who knows how long.

Gladio draws in a deep breath as if to clear his head and nods. He reaches aside as his fingers finally withdraw from Ignis's body; the condom packet slips slickly from his fingers and he barks an involuntary laugh. 

"Here--" Ignis grabs it from him, tears it open. This, he's pretty sure he can handle. He sits up so that he can unroll the condom down Gladio's length: god _damn_ , Gladio's impressive, he's actually a little worried about that whole being-sore-the-next-day thing now. But he smiles as he lays back again, taking a deep breath. Gladio follows him down, one hand between them.

"Something really cool about this," Gladio says, low and rough, his mouth against Ignis's ear as he works for a moment, and then the head of Gladio's cock is against Ignis's opening, blunt, feeling enormous. "I'll always be your first. You ready?"

"Come _on_ ," Ignis says, his heart thundering in his chest, and brings one leg up around Gladio's thigh. Gladio's hips move, and there he is, a slow press into Ignis, a fullness far beyond that of his fingers, slick and hot and everything Ignis wants, needs, has yearned for. He makes a sound, his forehead on Ignis's shoulder, a hoarse groan. Ignis lets his own head drop back and tries to remember to breathe.

It's good beyond words. He can practically feel Gladio's heartbeat, the connection is so intense. Then Gladio moves and it's even better. He's slow to the point of frustration, but when he draws back nearly all the way and then pushes in again, Ignis cries out at the feeling of fulfillment, of completion.

"Hang on," Gladio growls, "it gets better."

Ignis doesn't know how it possibly could, but then Gladio pushes up a little, grasps Ignis's legs and brings them around his waist. When he pulls back and thrusts again, a bright wave of sheer pleasure strikes Ignis like lightning. He clings to Gladio, gasping, incoherent. Gladio's grin is fierce as he does it again, again, slowly settling into a steady rhythm.

He doesn't hit that spot every time -- thank the _Gods_ \-- so Ignis can actually appreciate what's happening in between those amazing moments of ecstasy. He slides his fingers through Gladio's hair, leans up to kiss him: it's awkward and messy and everything he needs. Sex is so much _more_ than he thought it would be, and he knows already he's going to want to do this as often as possible.

"Doin' OK?" Gladio pants. Ignis turns his head and mouths at Gladio's neck by way of answer. Gladio's laugh is a breathy chuckle against Ignis's shoulder.

It can't last, of course. As much as Ignis would like to do nothing but spend the rest of his life in this bed, in this moment, there's already a thread of that familiar sensation climbing up his spine, tingling along his every nerve. Gladio shifts to rest his weight on one forearm, the other hand sleeking between their bodies to close on Ignis's cock, moving in pace with his own thrusts. "Oh Gods, oh fuck, Gladio," Ignis babbles, but it's too late, he can't hold on. Gladio's fist tightens and speeds, and the orgasm pours through Ignis like a wave, until he's spent and gasping.

Even as he lets his arms go limp, Gladio bears down, thrusting faster and more erratically. Ignis tries to focus, wanting to see Gladio's face in the moment, and then it's there; Gladio arches against him, buried in Ignis, holding himself there for long seconds as he shakes and gasps through his climax.

He rolls to his side, cock slipping out of Ignis's body, chest heaving. Ignis goes with him; even though they're both panting and sweaty, he can't stand the idea of being separated from Gladio for even a moment. He catches up against Gladio's chest, an arm draped over Gladio. Still shivering a little, Gladio curls his arm around Ignis's shoulders to hold him there.

"Wow," he says after a minute or so.

"Yeah," Ignis says. He doesn't need to be eloquent right now.

Eventually, Gladio stops tracing patterns into Ignis's shoulder with his fingertips and sits up, gently nudging Ignis back. He peels off the condom and goes to the bathroom to dispose of it. While he's gone, Ignis lazily reaches for the covers and attempts to get them back into some semblance of order. He's cooling off; he only hopes Gladio won't boot him out after this.

Gladio returns with a damp washcloth, which he slaps onto Ignis's belly. With a weak laugh, Ignis takes it, wiping up the ejaculate, then tentatively dips it between his legs. He's still loose and slick; it's a strange sensation. When he's done, Gladio leans in to kiss him and takes the cloth back, then tosses it back to the bathroom.

"You staying?" he asks as he slides down under the covers.

"Can't imagine where I'd go after that," Ignis says. He reaches for the water, offers Gladio a drink; smiling, Gladio takes the bottle and drains half of what's left, then gives it back to Ignis so he can finish it off.

"Good. You can make breakfast." Gladio chuckles and tugs Ignis in even as he reaches over to turn the bedside lamp off.

Ignis has never been more grateful he was sent to Gladio for weapons training.


End file.
